The castle had begun to slip into its usual December quiet. Snow blanketed the grounds, and frost clung to the tall windows of Hogwarts like ancient runes etched in ice. Students were walking in clusters, huddled in scarves and robes, their voices carrying the same note of anxiety that had become common in recent weeks.
Ever since the attack on Mrs. Norris, things hadn't been the same.
But after Colin Creevey had been Petrified, everything had gotten worse. Now, a chilling silence seemed to follow every set of footsteps, as if the castle itself was holding its breath.
Elias Blackthorn had spent the morning in the Room of Requirement, immersed in ancient texts with delicate enchantments—his time split between deciphering fragments of ancient language and refining his spellwork. The quiet, disciplined repetition of wand movements echoed in the cavernous room like the murmurs of a long-dead past. Both Draco and Daphne had joined him again, but they left earlier for lunch, while Elias stayed behind to attempt a complex rune interpretation.
By the time he emerged into the corridors of Hogwarts, the chill of December air stung his skin. But what greeted him wasn't the usual bustling hallway full of students heading to class.
It was silence.
A strange, taut silence filled the castle. A group of students stood clustered near a corridor junction. Whispers fluttered between them like a disturbed flock of birds. As Elias approached, his keen eyes caught sight of Draco slipping out of the crowd.
"There you are," Draco muttered, looking unusually pale.
"What happened?" Elias asked, instantly alert.
"There's been another attack," Draco said, his voice tight with both anxiety and the thrill of news. "Justin Finch-Fletchley. And Nearly Headless Nick. They were found—frozen. Just like the others."
Elias's expression hardened slightly. "Where?"
"Down the corridor outside the library," Draco said, gesturing. "Dumbledore and McGonagall were already called. Potter was there too—found right next to them."
Elias's eyes narrowed. "Of course he was."
Draco leaned in, lowering his voice. "People are saying he's the Heir of Slytherin."
Elias didn't reply immediately. His mind raced, not with fear or suspicion, but analysis. Another attack meant that the danger was far from over—and the pattern was beginning to emerge.
As he turned to walk toward the site, he found that Filch had cordoned off the area with magical barriers. Teachers and prefects were trying to disperse the crowd.
Elias caught a brief glimpse of Justin's stiff form, lying rigid on the cold stone floor. Nearly Headless Nick floated nearby in a translucent suspension, his ghostly body frozen in place. The scene was grim—and familiar.
He didn't linger.
By the time dinner rolled around, the Great Hall had transformed once again into a den of whispers. No one sat near Harry Potter. Even his fellow Gryffindors gave him sideways glances, hesitant and wary. The tables weren't as loud as usual, and talismans and protective charms had become a regular part of the students' wardrobe. Strings of garlic, enchanted amulets, and even crude crystal pendants were now tucked beneath collars and pockets.
The whispers continued.
"He was found right there."
"He spoke Parseltongue last year."
"My mum says that kind of magic runs in the blood…"
Elias sat at the Slytherin table, flanked by Draco and Daphne. Neither of them spoke for a moment as the news hovered around them like the smell of burning parchment.
"He really is getting himself into deep waters," Draco muttered, stabbing at his shepherd's pie. "Right next to the victim. Again."
"He doesn't strike me as clever enough to do this and get away with it," Daphne said, although her tone was skeptical. "But people are afraid. Fear doesn't listen to reason."
Elias remained silent, his gaze fixed across the Hall. Harry sat with Ron and Hermione at the far end of the Gryffindor table. All three looked miserable. Harry, especially, looked as though he'd swallowed something sour and couldn't spit it out. His shoulders were tense, and his fingers clenched around his goblet of pumpkin juice.
McGonagall stood from the staff table and clapped for attention. The murmurings quieted instantly.
"I must remind everyone," she began, voice ringing clear, "that the corridors are to be cleared by seven in the evening sharp. No exceptions. Prefects will be escorting all students to their dormitories. Until further notice, no student is to leave their common room after curfew."
The collective groan from the students was drowned out by the seriousness in her eyes.
"Additional protective wards have been placed throughout the castle. Those with concerns or information are to report directly to myself or Professor Dumbledore."
With that, she sat down. And just like that, the hush returned.
Later that evening, Elias walked alone through the dungeons back to the Slytherin common room. The walls flickered with torchlight, casting dancing shadows that reminded him all too much of the enchanted defenses he had faced in the pyramid not long ago.
Inside the common room, the atmosphere was tense but less fearful. Slytherins, while not completely exempt from anxiety, had developed a certain prideful confidence.
No one here thought they would be targeted.
After all, they were pure-bloods.
Daphne was seated near the fire, flipping through an Arithmancy book, while Draco sat at the far end, discussing something in low tones with Blaise and Theo Nott.
When Elias entered, a few heads turned in subtle acknowledgment.
He moved to his usual seat, opening a heavy tome of ancient language patterns he'd begun translating earlier. But his mind wasn't truly on the text.
He replayed Draco's words again.
Another attack.
Draco turned slightly. "Potter's days of being Hogwarts' golden boy are over."
"Perhaps," Elias replied coolly. "Or perhaps things are just beginning.
At last, the term came to an end, and a silence as deep as the snow covering the grounds descended upon Hogwarts. The corridors, once alive with whispers about the Chamber of Secrets and theories about the Heir, now seemed subdued. With students preparing to leave for the holidays, even the tension had taken on a quieter, colder edge.
Elias Blackthorn stood beside Daphne and Draco on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, the thick snow crunching softly beneath their boots. Their trunks had already been loaded into the train, and steam hissed around them as the scarlet Hogwarts Express prepared to return them to London.
Daphne tugged her cloak tighter, her breath clouding in the frigid morning air. "I suppose this is the last bit of peace before things get even more chaotic."
Draco gave a casual shrug, his gloved hands tucked into his pockets. "Let them panic. I'm not wasting my holidays worrying about what Potter's up to."
Elias gave a small nod, casting one last glance toward the castle silhouetted against the white horizon. "Let's just stay prepared. The worst hasn't happened yet."
They boarded the train, settling into an empty compartment near the middle. As the engine rumbled to life and the train pulled away from the station, Hogwarts slowly disappeared behind the veil of falling snow.
Inside the compartment, the usual chatter between the three was lighter. Despite the thick atmosphere that had lingered over the school these past weeks, the pull of home and the approaching Yule season offered a sense of calm.
Draco talked about his family's winter estate in Wiltshire, where he planned to spend his time dueling with his father and refining his spellwork. Daphne, more reserved, spoke of her plan to visit the Greengrass ancestral library and practice healing charms with her aunt, a well-known St. Mungo's expert.
"And you?" Daphne asked Elias, eyes glinting with curiosity. "Another round of training?"
Elias offered a small, composed smile. "Something like that or visiting some relatives.
Their conversation faded into more light-hearted talk as the snowy landscape swept past their window. But in the back of Elias's mind, the image of the ancient book—still sealed away in his family's vault—remained ever present, like a whisper calling to him through the snow.
Back at Hogwarts, Gryffindor Tower had emptied considerably. Only a handful of students had stayed behind for the holidays. Among them were Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Weasleys. Fred, George, and Ginny had opted to remain at school rather than join their parents visiting Bill in Egypt. Percy, as usual, disapproved of their "childish" decision, claiming he was staying purely out of prefect duty to support the staff.
Harry found the emptiness peaceful. For once, he didn't have to worry about the stares and whispers that had followed him relentlessly since the last attack. With the tower quiet, he, Ron, and Hermione spent their time playing Exploding Snap, sneaking into classrooms to duel, and—most importantly—preparing the Polyjuice Potion.
It had taken weeks to gather the ingredients.
Ron had stolen what they needed from Snape's personal stores—a risky, terrifying heist that they barely pulled off.
Now, the thick potion sat bubbling inside a cauldron in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, locked behind a series of enchantments Hermione had layered with meticulous precision. The smell was terrible—like overcooked cabbage mixed with mud—but the progress was undeniable.
"According to the book," Hermione said one snowy morning, scanning Moste Potente Potions again, "it should be ready on Christmas Day."
Ron leaned back against the wall. "So we'll do it after breakfast then?"
Hermione hesitated. "Actually... no. Elias won't be back by then. If we want to figure out whether he's the Heir, we'll have to wait until the start of term."
Harry nodded slowly, though he clearly didn't like the idea of waiting longer. "It's not like we have another choice. We can't follow him off the train."
Ron scowled. "Why couldn't he just stay here like the rest of us?"
"Because," Hermione said patiently, "some people actually have families who don't visit over Christmas."
Meanwhile, Elias's train arrived in London by early afternoon, steam hissing across the platform as students reunited with waiting parents. Lucian Blackthorn stood tall at the end of the platform, a composed figure in elegant black robes trimmed with silver. He greeted his son with a single nod, his steel-gray eyes briefly scanning him for injury, fatigue, or any sign of trouble.
"Any news?" he asked quietly as they walked toward the exit.
"Two more attacks," Elias said without hesitation. "The mood's shifted. Dumbledore is under pressure."
Lucian's lips thinned into a line. "And Potter?"
"Still being blamed by some," Elias said. "But not all. He's too well-protected, and too foolish to be behind this."
Lucian nodded once. "Good. You'll update me later. First, your ritual."
The two vanished through the crowd, stepping into the shadows of the station, heading home.